


There's Gnoplace Like Home

by postjentacular



Series: Drarropoly 2.0 [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarropoly 2.0 - A Drarry Game/Fest, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, I REGRET NOTHING, M/M, crack!fic, voyeuristic gnomes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21533866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postjentacular/pseuds/postjentacular
Summary: The crack!fic nobody asked for. Draco negotiates the removal of a gardenful of voyeuristic gnomes.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Drarropoly 2.0 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1548979
Comments: 4
Kudos: 68
Collections: Drarropoly 2.0 - A Drarry Game/Fest





	There's Gnoplace Like Home

“Shhh! Ingo, we’re list’nin’,” Hermann hissed, pointing his knobbly finger towards the group of witches and wizards standing on the stone patio at the rear of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. The raised platform was only just high enough to be seen above the knee-high grass that covered most of the garden. 

“–the greenhouse is probably in good enough nick, I mean if we can get through that briar patch. Might need a couple of panes in the roof replaced, but if was built with magic the structure’ll be sound,” Neville said. “Really Har’ the whole place just needs a bit of TLC.”

Harry nodded in agreement, “It’ll’ve been built with magic, Nev. Can’t imagine Walburga getting in a muggle handyman.”

“Need to get rid of the gnomes first, though,” Ron shouted back towards the house. He was kicking through the grass towards Hermann and Ingo, getting closer and louder with every step.

Ingo twitched beside Hermann and he put out his arm to hold him back, but was too late; there was nothing but a trail in the grass where he was bounding towards The Long Ginger One. “Ingo, no!” he hissed as loudly as he dared. The next thing he saw was Ingo being swung around Ron’s head.

“Gerroff me!” Ingo yelped, which just made the spinning faster. 

From the patio, Hermione seemed to be angry, or disappointed, or - most likely - both as she shouted across the garden, “Ronald, put that gnome down!” 

_Ronald_ didn’t. Ingo continued to spin until _Ronald_ gave a shout and dropped him with a thump, Ingo landed with a cackle. “He bit me! The blighter bit me!” _Ronald_ whinged, waving his hand.

Luna hopped down from the patio and danced through the grass towards _Ronald_ , her dirty blonde hair flowing behind her. “Oh, how lovely! You’ve been gifted their saliva. It’s so rare, how do you feel? Do you think you can knit now? Parli italiano?” 

_Ronald_ was laughing dismissively at her. He’d show him, Hermann hawked up the biggest pool of spit he could, leaving it for The One They Liked. Through the tall grass, Ingo appeared, stopping next to the puddle of spit, less than steady on his feet, “I bitted him! He tastes ‘orrible.”

“Yeah,” Hermann grunted defeatedly. “But now ‘e’s really gonna get rid o’ us. Get everyone, we needs to talk.” He dismissed Ingo with a wave and set off towards the gnome hole.

The gnome hole was as cosy as could be for an underground pit dug by hand in the back garden of a wizarding house in central London. That is to say, not very. An old paint pot that had rolled under the back fence many years ago served as their stage, soapbox, and sometimes dining table. Today Hermann stood atop it, neck cricked to fit under the low roof. He re-told the day’s events, culminating in Ingo’s biting of The Long Ginger One. He urged his kin to stand their ground, but to not be stupid. _A stupid gnome is a spinning gnome_ as his father used to say – before he got flung over the fence by that creaky house elf. Gnomes had lived in Grimmauld Place since before the wizards, since before the elves, and they would be here long after both had gone. Just because they couldn’t go in the house didn’t mean this place wasn’t their home.

⁂

The next morning Hermann was woken by the rumbling of voices coming from above ground, he made his way out of the gnome hole as stealthily as possible. He made it to the crabapple tree and hunkered down by the dry, withered roots to eavesdrop. Harry was talking to a new one, all white and pointy; prissed, pressed, and polished.

“Just get rid of them, I don’t care how,” Harry said. He didn’t look dressed for company, barefoot in a ratty grey t-shirt and jeans that hung low on his waist. 

The Pointy One gave a huff, “It will take some time, Potter. If I do this, I will do it properly. I will not just dispose of them into your neighbours’ gardens, like your weasel seems to think is a solution.”

“If?”

“Yes, ‘if,’ Potter. Why should I do this for you?”

“Because I’m paying you, Malfoy. Because it’s your job.”

Malfoy dismissed the reasons with a _pfft_. “There are plenty of others who do this, most of them with a lot less antagonism.”

“Maybe I like the antagonism,” Potter said, scruffing the hair at the back of his neck while a flash of red flushed his cheeks.

Malfoy stared at him for a good minute before he spoke again, “Alright.” He pointed his finger to Potter’s chest and accentuated each of his caveats with a sharp jab, “You will not complain, you will not interfere, and you will not judge my methods.”

Potter mimed buttoning his lip and offered his hand. Malfoy gave it a single firm shake, “Very well, I’ll begin in the morning.”

Hermann made his way back to the gnome hole for what he feared could be one of the last times.

⁂

Hermann was first awake the next morning, or so he thought. Waiting above ground, sat primly on the stone steps leading from the patio down to the garden was same The Pointy One from the previous day, _Malfoy_. He looked innocuous enough, wearing practical grey robes with his platinum hair pulled back in a loose bun, but Hermann knew. It had begun. 

He took his own sentry in the reeds at the edge of the pond and sent Ingo to watch from behind the upturned wheelbarrow. They watched. They watched The Pointy One do nothing. They watched as he did not so much as flinch when one of the gnomelings made a break for freedom from the monotony of the gnome hole and scurried through the grass less than a foot from his polished dragonhide boots. They watched as he stood up at the end of the day and announced to the _empty_ garden that he’d be back tomorrow.

When the rattle from the closed door signalled the all clear, Hermann scuttled across the garden, splashing through the mud and heaving himself up the patio steps to reach the door. He hunkered down in front of the kneazleflap and pushed it open a crack.

“How many did you manage to get rid of?” Potter asked.

The Pointy One gave a snort, “I don’t ‘get rid’ of them Potter. I relocate the whole clan, amicably. Although _Gernumbli gardensi_ are hardly known for their cooperative nature.”

“So,” Potter paused briefly, “you could be around for a while?” 

“Is there a problem with that? I’m not extorting you, I charge a flat fee,” Malfoy snapped.

“It’s not about the money.”

“If it’s about my being here I can apparate in and out directly from the garden if you would prefer. That way you would never have to see me; you would, of course, need to make a minor adjustment to your wards to facilitate-” 

“Don’t be daft, besides I added you to the wards this morning. Come on, I’ve just put the kettle on.” Potter led Malfoy out of the kitchen and earshot.

⁂ 

The second day was strikingly similar to the first. The Pointy One sat. The gnomes watched.

Mid-afternoon on the third day, Hermann sent out Ingo as bait. He came back in one piece, unspun.

The fourth morning, Hermann was already sat cross-legged on top of the damp, rotten picnic table under the damson tree that hadn’t bloomed in a couple of decades, before The Pointy One could take his usual seat on the stone steps. Hermann called him over with a high-pitched yowl; he gestured grandly at the one bench which was more-or-less intact and The Pointy One tucked his navy robes under himself before he sat down on the soft, mildewed wood.

“‘ello Pointy One,” Hermann said, chewing on a stringy, dry root that he clutched half eaten in his fist. 

“Please, call me Draco,” he offered his hand in greeting. 

Hermann eyed it suspiciously until he dropped it, “Okay Pointy One. ‘m Hermann. You speak to me; ‘m in charge.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Hermann.”

Hermann scowled, “You wanna get rid o’ us. We not movin’, this is our home an’ we were ‘ere first.” 

“With all due respect, this is Potter’s home-”

“Ha!” Hermann interrupted. “Not a home-”

“This is Potter’s home,” Malfoy pressed on, “and perhaps if you did something to help, he would be more receptive to allowing you to continue to live here.” He pointed around the garden at the overgrown lawn, the thorny briar patch cutting off the path to the greenhouse, the upturned and cracked flower pots, the table they are sat at, all damp and rotten. 

“This isn’t us!” Hermann stood up, outraged, dropping the half-chewed root on the table between them to clench his pudgy hands into tight fists. “Garden’s mess ‘cause house and Master got no love.” 

“Potter has love,” Malfoy said with a disdainful huff. “Friends, family, the adorning public, and whatnot.”

Hermann took a step across the table top until he was just a couple of inches from Malfoy’s face, “Not _friend_ love. _Love_ love.” Hermann made a crude gesture that left nothing to the imagination as he leered, his yellowed teeth taking up half his face.

“Well,” Malfoy leaned back regaining his personal space, “there’s nothing I can do about that.” 

Hermann gave a cackle and shook his head. He jumped from the table and headed back to the gnome hole, stopping every so often to turn and shake his head at The Pointy One.

⁂

“I have a proposition for you.” The Pointy One began on bright, cool Thursday morning a couple of weeks later, his hand clamped around a striped blue mug of steaming tea. “I’ve found a new garden for you down in Devon, just outside Ottery St Catchpole. It’s got acres of space, lots of vegetables, even has its own pumpkin patch. There are apple trees – proper apple trees, not crabapples and–”

“–Ginger Ones. Ottery has Ginger Ones. We know about Ginger Ones. Everygnome knows Ginger Ones. We not stupid. You wanna agreem’nt? You need to be serious.” Hermann hissed. He stomped down from the table, the rotten planks shaking precariously, and across the lawn, his feet making little squelches in the damp grass, until he disappeared under the holly bush.

It was four long, quiet days before Hermann returned to the table; a peace offering of marrows and cabbages left outside the gnome hole doing more to bring him back than guilt or obligation ever could have.

⁂

“I ‘ave an offer for you,” Hermann said, pushing the damson blossom from the tabletop to clear himself a seat. “You let us see you smoochin’”.

“Sorry, what‽” Malfoy tried to swallow the tea that was teetering between choking him and being spat all over the gnome sat on the table.

“Smoochin’” Hermann clarified, puckering his lips and making a horrific sucking sound to dispel any confusion.

“No, I know what _‘smooching’_ is,” Malfoy said, cheeks reddening. “But I don’t know why you could possibly think I would have anyone to do that with, or, more pertinently, why I’d let you watch.”

“Not jus’ me, all of us.”

“That doesn’t make it any better, you filthy perv. Can we get back to business now?”

Hermann gave him another squelchy kissing noise for good measure as he sat down and proceeded to say no to every suggestion put on the table.

⁂

The patter of rain did such a good job of drowning out the yapping and jabbering of the gnomes stuck inside due to the inclement weather aboveground, that Hermann had considered treating himself to a long lie. That was until a sopping wet Ingo dripped his way across the dirt floor and unceremoniously splashed him awake.

“Pointy One h’sn’t come,” Ingo drizzled.

Hermann groaned and sat up, pushing aside the pile of crunchy dry leaves he’d snuggled under. He growled at Ingo and headed out into the rain.

He squelched across the garden, cursing the stupid Pointy One, and stupid Ingo, and the stupid rain. He didn't even stop to pick up any of the worms that were enjoying the mud. He climbed onto the patio and gave a pot of begonias a kick, it landed on its side and he quickly dumped the flowers and soil onto the ground. He dragged the empty pot across the damp stone and put it upside down under the kitchen window. He pulled himself on top, stretched up onto his tiptoes, and peeked in the window. The kitchen looked warm, a fire crackling in the hearth, and a couple of pots and a kettle bubbling on the stove top. At the table, The Pointy One had a knitted red blanket wrapped around his shoulders and was trying to get up.

“Let me go, Potter,” he pushed the blanket off his shoulders, “I have a job to do.”

Potter wrapped the blanket back around The Pointy One and pushed him back down into the chair, “Not today, Malfoy. You’re ill.”

“No, I’m fi-” he spluttered into his elbow, “fine. Just a muggle cold. I have to continue negot- negotiations.”

“No, you have to sit down and drink this.” He picked up the kettle and topped up the blue striped mug that sat in front of Malfoy.

“Potter, I am a professional, I have to–”

“Fine!” Potter stood up and marched across to the door, he stuck his head out into the rain, “Oi, gnome faces. Malfoy’s sick. He’ll be back tomorrow.” There was a hacking cough from inside the house, “Or the day after.” He slammed the door closed again. “That good enough for you?” he asked, voice muffled again by the window. Hermann couldn’t hear Malfoy’s reply but he watched the two of them move from the table to the worn squashy orange sofa that had appeared in front of the hearth, Malfoy still wrapped tight in his blanket.

⁂

It rained for another two days, The Pointy One returned on the third. 

Four other gardens had been offered and turned down, including but not limited to Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch ( _“we ‘ave ‘eard of ‘agrid”_ ), Kew Gardens ( _“it’s muggle you can’t fool us”_ ), and Malfoy Manor. Kew Gardens had sent Hermann off on a forty five minute rant about the insulting muggle interpretations of gnomes, how they don’t all wear pointy hats, how it was impossible to live up to muggle beauty standards, how not all tricksters are bad, and how red just isn’t his colour. In contrast, the suggestion of the Manor gardens had been going reasonably well until the peafowl came up.

“Are you being deliberately difficult or is it just your nature?” Malfoy asked, not really expecting a reply.

“You bein’ diff’cult,” Hermann countered. “We told you what we want. We stay ‘ere. Maybe you don’t listen ‘cause you like bein’ with ‘im.” he pointed accusingly towards the house. “We stay. You stay. I seen you, I know you like ‘im.” Hermann snapped a carrot in half and stuffed both parts in his mouth until his cheeks bulged. “Maybe you take ‘im ‘way and leave us ‘ere.”

“Or maybe,” Malfoy stood up, towering over the gnome, “I bring in a Jarvey to finish the job for me. I hear they like to give a commentary as they rip apart gnomes that know nothing of others’ business.” He stalked towards the house and slammed the door with deafening finality.

Two days later there was a pile of worms left on the picnic table. 

Malfoy put the offer of Manor gardens back up for discussion, throwing in the vegetable patch for good measure. By the end of the day he’d added ridding the Manor of peafowl to his proposal; Hermann thought he looked a little gleeful when he suggested it. As the evening drew in, Malfoy drew a light-grey handkerchief from his pocket and used it to gather up the writhing peace offering and took it with him into the house.

Hermann didn’t need to sit by the kneazleflap to hear the outrage when The Pointy One got indoors. “You took the worms‽ What are you going to do with them?”

“They need to know I’m serious, Potter.” 

⁂ 

There was a late September nip in the air as Hermann watched The Pointy One take his customary seat on the stone steps waiting for the invite to the picnic table. He set his wand next to him and pulled his woollen robes a little tighter around his chest, flipping up his collar against the breeze. Hermann made him wait three hours before he ventured out of the gnome hole, getting The Pointy One’s attention with a well aimed horse chestnut to the chest and a growl.

Malfoy stood to make his way over to their table, but he stopped at Hermann’s growl. “You offer us Malf’y Manor? And no stupid birds? And veg’bles? All the veg’bles, no ‘taters.”

Malfoy nodded, “Yes, you can have all of that if you all leave this garden.” 

Hermann took a bite from an oversized crabapple, he chewed without breaking eye contact with The Pointy One. “We talk,” he said spitting chunks of apple through his words. “You wait.” 

“I’ll wait,” Malfoy agreed, tucking his robe back under himself and sitting down again. 

The sun had long gone down and the moon was high in the sky but The Pointy One was still sitting there when Hermann came back to take his watch, to make sure Malfoy had kept his word. The Pointy One was good; he was still there, he had kept his word. He might just pass their test after all. Hermann wrapped a clump of long grass around him to keep in the warmth and plucked the first worm from his clamped fist, then he watched.

It was quiet for some time, only the stupid birds who don’t know it’s nighttime, and the stupid foxes who thought they belonged in the city, and the stupid muggles with their engines and sirens and chatter, and stupid Potter…

“You’re still here?” Potter opened the door and let a warm beam of light cut across the ground, illuminating The Pointy One. 

“They’re discussing my offer,” he nodded towards the hole. “Just waiting on their decision.”

“Well, come wait inside, it’s freezing out here.” Potter blew on his fingers to warm them before giving up and tucking them under his armpits. “Or just get the answer tomorrow.”

“I’m fine, Potter.” He did a rubbish job of hiding his chattering teeth. “I gave them my word that I’d wait.” 

“Your word’s worth nothing if you catch pneumonia.” He muttered an incantation under his breath that warmed the air enough that Hermann could feel it all the way across the garden. He sat down next to Malfoy on the stone step, “You’re frozen, Malfoy.” He flung out his hand and from inside the house a steaming mug of something floated out, a couple of drops of liquid slopping to the ground with the speed. He pushed the mug into Malfoy’s hands.

Malfoy took a sip and then pushed it back with the screwed-up face, “Urggh, needs more sugar.”

Potter accepted the mug and wrapped his hands around it, “I’ll remember next time, your highness. Are you really gonna sit here all night?”

“I gave them my word, Potter. You don’t have to stay.”

“One of us has to be the sensible one,” he bashed Malfoy with his shoulder. “Didn’t think it would be me though. You want a blanket?” He held out his hand to summon it like he did the mug, but before he could Hermann interrupted.

“We h’sn’t decided,” his high-pitched growl carried across the garden. “Pointy One can go ‘way now.”

“Well,” Potter said as he stood up offering a hand to Malfoy, who took it with a hint of a smile. “You heard the gnome, let’s get you warm. I’m sure Kreacher has some sugar cubes stashed away somewhere.” The pair of them went into the house, closing the door and cutting off the light. 

Hermann pulled another worm from his fist and chewed.

⁂ 

The Pointy One was back by sunrise, he’d sat himself at the table, the morning dew darkening the hems of his forest green robes.

“Manor and veg’bles and no birds and no ‘taters,” Hermann said by way of greeting, landing on the table from the damson tree above, juice running down his chest from the half-chewed fruit in his hand. Tha table barely wobbled from his landing.

“The Manor gardens and vegetable patch,” Malfoy agreed. “The peafowl have been relocated and the current crop of potatoes will be the last.” He stuck out his hand to shake on the deal.

“An’ the compost ‘eap,” Hermann countered.

“And the compost heap, but you leave before sunset today.”

Hermann clamped both of his sticky hands around Malfoy’s proffered one and shook firmly. “Okay Pointy One, we make a deal.”

⁂ 

“What are we doing out here?” Harry asked, looking around at the garden that glowed with an eerie silver sheen in the moonlight. 

Draco put a finger to Harry’s lips, “Can you hear it?”

“What?” Harry mouthed around the finger.

“Nothing.”

Harry’s eyes went wide, “You did it?” Draco nodded as Harry wrapped him in a hug, when they pulled apart, Harry looked awkward, “Sorry.”

Draco smirked, “Not sorry.” He leaned down the couple of inches between them and kissed. 

Harry responded immediately opening his mouth to Draco’s tongue. His hands slid under Draco’s robes and pulled them chest to chest. “Should we take this inside?”

“There are elves inside, there’s just us out here now.” Draco said, tipping his head to allow Harry to kiss down his throat, to the juncture where his throat met his collarbone.

“You make a good point,” he said, somewhat muffled against Draco’s cool, pale skin. “But..” he slipped his hand into Draco’s hair, reversing their positions and guiding his head, his lips, down ‘til Draco’s lips found that spot just under his ear, “...there’s furniture inside: sofas, tables… beds.”

Draco pulled away from his slow trail down Harry’s jawline and smirked, “That’s a better point.” They disapparated with a pop that echoed through the garden.

Under the holly bush half a dozen gnomes cursed in frustration.

**Author's Note:**

>   
> 
> 
> Whoop Whoop for the mods and #teamsnitch


End file.
